


Santa, Spock, and Other Things With Beards

by AnnaKnitsSpock



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: BFF Nyota, Bearding, Beards (Relationships), Chanukah, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Established Relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, James T. Kirk & Nyota Uhura Friendship, K/S Advent Calendar, K/S Advent Calendar 2017, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Angst, Secret Relationship, So Much Fluff I'm Sorry, Spock & Nyota Uhura Friendship, k/s - Freeform, spirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 06:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13070619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaKnitsSpock/pseuds/AnnaKnitsSpock
Summary: As commanders of a starship, Jim and Spock's relationship must be a fiercely guarded secret so, to keep any of their suspicious behavior out of the limelight, Nyota generously acts as Spock's beard. Their fake relationship is a favorite in Federation media, but the holidays have Jim feeling frustrated by the charade. Nyota is determined to remind him that no matter what the universe sees, at home on the Enterprise, the truth is more important than the lie.





	Santa, Spock, and Other Things With Beards

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my contribution to this year's [K/S Advent Calendar](http://ksadvent.livejournal.com/)! This is my sixth year doing the Advent and it's always a treat! Thanks as always to Amanda and Arminaa for organizing!
> 
> Thanks to my ever-wonderful betas: Ashaya, who has been very patient this fall with my scatterbrained delivery of fic to her inbox. You mean so very much to me, my dear, Merry Merry Christmas!!
> 
> And of course my dear Al, who handholds me through fic and through life and who I am blessed to know. I love you, sugar. Find Al on AO3 [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cohobbitation/pseuds/cohobbitation) and on Tumblr [here](http://cohobbitation.tumblr.com/).
> 
> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=573JiFpQ_PY) is the Christmas song referenced at the end of the fic. I didn't include it for fear of copyright issues, but it's a song that's always made me think of Kirk and Spock.

“There you are, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Uhura, stretched out elegantly on her back in Spock’s bed, looked up from her PADD. “Captain, you do know you can search for people on the computer, right? Rumor on the street is that this ship of yours has some pretty decent technology.”

Jim flopped into Spock’s desk chair. “Gosh, you’re just _hilarious_.”

“Thanks, I know!”

“Anyway, I didn’t want to invade your privacy or anything. This isn’t ship’s business.”

Uhura sat up, putting her PADD aside. “Holiday party?”

“Yeah.”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Where’s Spock? I told him I’d wait here so we can work on the Danaxi IV translations.”

“Labs.”

“Well aren’t you secretive, talking to me about this alone.”

“I just wanted to check in with you. Human to human.”

Uhura sighed and her eyes softened. Her perceptiveness was an endless asset to Jim as a captain, and an endless annoyance to him as her friend.

“Jealous or guilty?”

Jim slouched into the chair again and let his head fall back. “Both.”

“Well go ahead and dismiss the guilt. Like I’ve said a million times, this is _my_ choice, and I’m perfectly capable of making it. When it becomes untenable for me, I’ll let you guys know. Until then, this is something I’m happy to do for Spock, _and for you_ , doofus.”

Jim looked up at her and she raised a thin, smug eyebrow. She was a very difficult woman to argue with.

“Fine. Point taken. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You know the rule: the second this prevents me from getting laid on shore leave, you’ll be the first to know.”

Jim snorted. “A funny thing to say when you’re casually lounging in my boyfriend’s bed.”

“Sorry, Jim. Best friend access. I’m allowed anything that’s his unless he needs it to get your dick. And unless it _is_ your dick, I guess.”

“My dick isn’t _his_ ,” Jim protested, but he was already starting to laugh.

“Oh, sorry, my bad—your ass.”

Jim picked up the softest thing he could find on Spock’s desk—a stuffed sehlat he had bought for him that Spock had declared illogical but which nonetheless occupied prime real estate on his work desk—and threw it at Uhura. Laughing, she batted it back at him and, in trying to dodge it, he fell off the chair.

Spock entered his quarters three minutes later to find Jim sprawled on the floor, Uhura hanging halfway off his bed on her stomach, both of them paralyzed by uncontrollable laughter. Spock sighed. There were times when he truly questioned his attachment to these two humans.

\---

There weren’t _technically_ regulations against dating your first officer. Well actually there were, but regulations were kind of fuzzy for the _Enterprise_ crew. The ship spent more time in deep space than any other, its occupants separated from other sentient life for greater and more taxing periods of time. Brass had made it quite clear to Jim that his enforcement of frat regs should be relaxed.

He doubted, however, that such luxuries extended to the captain, especially as concerned the first officer.

But regulations didn’t change the basic fact that regardless of their relationship status, Jim and Spock could not be objective about each other. Emotional compromise was a very real and nearly constant part of their command styles that they had been forced to learn to work around.

They were brilliant men, exemplary officers. Perhaps another command team might not have been able to identify this particular shortcoming, let alone overcome it, but they were also stubborn. They refused to give up their command and, it turned out, they refused to give up each other.

So they sent each other into life-threatening situations as if it were as easy as breathing. They weighed and assessed each decision, excised emotional bias like a cancer. When things went wrong, when one of them was missing, presumed dead, lying in sickbay on life-support, the other remained utterly in control and commanded unaffected. They were fond of each other, everyone knew it, but no one would have guessed the toll it took to maintain such unfailing objectivity.

No one saw Jim bent over Spock’s private sickbay bed, crying himself to exhaustion. No one saw Spock falsify logs when Jim was missing so that they could search for him just a little bit longer, use just a few more resources. No one saw them shout at each other in empty conference rooms as they tried to untangle their bias from command decisions, tried to figure out if their choices were impartial. No one saw them tear hard and sweet into each other after particularly terrifying missions, desperate to reassure each other of their continued existence by breaching each other’s bodies until they forgot what it felt like to be individuals.

Some of the high-ranking crew knew, of course. There had to be failsafes: they simply couldn’t trust themselves to always hold each other accountable. But everyone thought it best that the admiralty be kept ignorant. Jim and Spock were the highest-rated command team in the fleet, and the _Enterprise_ was doing vitally important work every day: why muddy all of that with bureaucratic concerns about fraternization and objectivity?

But still, they worried. They worried that it would get out, they worried about losing their command, and they worried, most of all, about losing each other. And there was always attention on them, gossip feeds speculating about their love lives. Every time another captain or first officer got married—never to each other, of course—Jim and Spock had to field another round of questions about being “bachelors,” and it was all just a little too close, a little too risky.

The bearding thing was Uhura’s idea. They had been at a diplomatic function on Orion and were approached by a human reporter who had clearly been kicking around the corners of the galaxy too long to be up on the latest gossip. Not that Spock and Uhura’s breakup had been widely publicized or anything; they were both private people and had slid almost effortlessly from lovers to best friends, somehow swerving past the usual drama. They had simply realized over time that their attraction to each other was neither romantic nor sexual so, ever the pragmatists, they had quietly changed their relationship dynamic.

(It was only a few months later that Jim and Spock had started sleeping together. There was nothing pragmatic about _their_ attraction—it was an all-consuming blaze that always threatened the edges of their self-imposed firewalls.)

The reporter had come bustling up to the three of them, vid recorder in hand. Spock’s spine snapped instantly into social discomfort, and Jim was tempted to reach out and take his hand, but of course he didn’t. Uhura, as she often did, had her hand tucked in the corner of Spock’s elbow. The reporter practically knocked Jim out of the way to get a good view of Spock and Uhura.

“Hi!” she said brightly. “I’d love to get a few words from one of Starfleet’s power couples, if you don’t mind!”

Jim saw the panic in Spock’s eyes, his nearly imperceptible intake of breath. He thought the reporter was talking about him and Jim, certainly a power couple if there ever was one. But Jim and Uhura saw what was happening, and Uhura tucked her arm a little more securely in Spock’s.

“Sorry,” she said, “we prefer to keep our private lives private.”

The reporter looked disappointed and opened her mouth to protest, but Jim stepped in. “My apologies, but my officers and I are needed elsewhere.”

As Jim shepherded them away, Spock looked between them in confusion.

“She was talking about us,” Uhura explained. “You and me.”

“But we are not romantically involved.”

“We’re _not_? Oh my god, how can you do this to me? Next you’ll be telling me you and the captain do more than play chess together!”

“Shh,” Jim hissed, looking around the tightly packed crowd, but no one was paying attention to them.

“Sorry. Look, she probably just knew about us from before. Or made an assumption because I was holding your arm.”

They huddled into a corner by the bar and Jim got them a round of drinks. Spock still looked a bit shaken. “I was concerned that she was referring to… a different configuration of partners.”

“I know,” Uhura said, rubbing his shoulder. Jim felt the bittersweet tang of relief that someone could comfort Spock in public, as well as the jealousy that it couldn’t be him. “But she wasn’t. Just some old-fashioned assumptions of heterosexuality and the ghosts of your past dating life.”

The next morning, they were having a private breakfast in Jim’s hotel suite, discussing some ship’s matter or another. Uhura was politely tolerating Jim leaning on Spock or taking his hand while they talked; she knew he didn’t sleep well without Spock and that it grated on him when they had to request separate accommodations at functions like this.

“Hey,” she said, “that reporter last night got me thinking. If you want me to beard for you guys to take some of the pressure off you, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Beard?” Spock said in confusion. “I have never heard that word used as a verb.”

Jim and Uhura exchanged a look of amusement at Spock’s general ignorance of queer Earth culture.

“It’s a woman who pretends to date a gay guy so he can stay in the closet,” Jim explained. “Uhura, I could never ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t ask. I’m offering. It’s not like I have a partner, and I don’t want one right now anyway. I only mean at parties and diplomatic events and stuff. It’s not even much different than how we are right now. I touch Spock in public way more than you do.”

She continued to politely ignore how Jim’s hand tightened in Spock’s.

“Although I am homosexual, you are not,” Spock reminded Jim, clearly still focused on his definition of bearding. “You are pansexual.”

“Yeah, thanks, babe, I do actually remember my own orientation,” Jim said, rolling his eyes. “Here, let me rephrase for your very literal brain: A beard is a woman who pretends to be with a guy who’s in a gay relationship, so that he can stay in the closet. Better?”

Spock, pursing his lips irritably at Jim’s patronizing, did not answer him, turning instead to Uhura. “You are offering to pretend to still be in a relationship with me so that no attention falls upon the union between Jim and myself.”

“Exactly. I mean, I get if you don’t want to. It’s gross to pretend you’re something you’re not. But you both get so stressed out whenever this stuff comes up; it might just make things smoother.”

And it had made things smoother. They did a few subtle trial runs at diplomatic functions; not openly lying about Spock and Uhura but heavily implying that they were involved. Ambassadors and press ate it up. Take any cozy man and woman and it seemed the universe, supposedly so far beyond ancient regressive ideals, would assume they were together romantically.

Finally they started answering “yes” when people asked if they were together, and that was that. At parties and functions, Spock and Uhura were the beautiful star couple of the _Enterprise_ (and they were hot together, Jim couldn’t deny it). Bones and Jim were usually stuck to each other anyway, so Jim didn’t have to watch too much of the bearding spectacle, but sometimes he just hung around them like a sad third wheel.

Luckily, it didn’t need to happen very often, and it had actually brought the three of them closer together, this shared secret.

Uhura and Jim frequently aired their combined frustrations over drinks until they were laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe, rehashing the assumptions various diplomats and reporters made about their situation.

Uhura was frequently assumed to be meek and submissive, given the galaxy’s residing (and usually inaccurate) beliefs about Vulcan gender roles. She fielded all kinds of insulting questions about forcing herself to obey Spock’s orders and suppress her humanity while still serving and submitting to her captain. Jim had had to step in a few times when he sensed that she couldn’t keep up the charade and was moments from punching a reporter in the dick.

But Spock and Uhura had never been like that, not even when they were together, so they were practiced in patiently—or not-so-patiently—correcting misapprehensions. But it was cathartic for Jim and Uhura to scream and yell about it later while Spock looked on bemusedly, sipping one small hot chocolate while the humans chased each other shot for shot (Bones knew to have detox hypos ready after every bearding function).

And Uhura was patient with Jim’s jealousy, his occasional emotional outbursts. She became a shoulder to cry on, a sympathetic ear. She came to understand intimately how and why Jim loved Spock, and bearding for them became a task she took even more seriously. This was something worth protecting.

In return, Jim became her personal and devoted wingman. She once confessed that she took out her frustration at the increase in sexism the bearding exposed her to through rough, queer sex on shore leaves. From that moment on, Jim made it his mission to help her achieve that goal whenever she wanted. It was a role he excelled at, and Uhura was more than glad to reap the benefits of his eerily successful ability to secure her the perfect fuck.

The rhythm they fell into suited them: diplomatic function, performative heterosexuality, angry drinking, trolling for alien sex, laughingly reflecting on the whole ridiculous shitshow. Neither Jim nor Uhura could have predicted, after their very rocky beginning, how close they would become.

But it wore on them, all three of them. It was a strain on Uhura’s autonomy, on her carefully cultivated professional demeanor, and on her already excessive workload.

And Spock, even for having been in denial about his sexuality for so long, didn’t take especially well to the closet. His possessive, territorial Vulcan instincts made him want to claim Jim as his, publicly, until there was no doubt in anyone’s mind. He hated that Jim, so attractive and charismatic, was universally assumed to be single.

Jim was quick to remind him that it was, in fact, Spock who was parading around with a woman on his arm, and that he would rather everyone think Spock was single than think he was in love with someone else.

Spock was quick to remind _him_ that they had both agreed to the bearding, and it was in fact a very taxing process that forced Spock to be much more social than he preferred.

These fights always ended in someone storming out, and then in both men calming down enough to realize they were both being unreasonable. They were together, blissfully together, and Uhura very generously provided a distraction from that fact and thus allowed them to keep their secret.

And so it went, around and around like a stupid carousel painted in too-bright colors.

\---

The _Enterprise_ holiday party wouldn’t have been stressful if there hadn’t been a bunch of admirals and diplomats coming aboard. Starfleet had apparently seen fit to host their most important guests on their precious flagship, and its captain hadn’t actually been given a choice.

There were holiday parties on the ship every year but they were usually fun, raucous gatherings decorated for various faiths and traditions. There was free-flowing eggnog, loud singing, and bright laughter. Jim liked those parties.

But _this_ was a stuffy, dress-uniform affair. Jim tugged at his collar and was forcefully reminded of chiding Bones, not two hours earlier, for doing the same. His largest observation deck was overdectorated with strings of lights and real holly boughs—Jim didn’t even know how the brass had gotten those aboard. It was three days before Christmas, and they were close enough to Earth for many lower-ranking officers to be on leave with their families, but not really close enough for unnecessary evergreen transport.

Jim and Spock had at least managed to have a sweet, private Chanukah celebration, quiet nights cuddling in the glow of the menorah, exchanging silly little gifts. Spock even managed to replicate a few of his mom’s recipes from the childhood Chanukahs he had celebrated with her. Spock was a talented cook in neither kitchen nor replicator, so Jim was impressed. But that had ended two days ago.

Now Jim could see Spock across the room, standing stiff but elegant next to Uhura, her arm in his. Both he and Uhura looked gorgeous in their respective dress blues and reds. Uhura was holding a delicate crystal flute glass and laughing at whatever some admiral had just said, and Jim saw her nudge Spock just slightly with her elbow to let him know he was supposed to show appreciation for whatever dumb joke they had just been subjected to. Spock nodded and tried, unsuccessfully, to fake an expression of mild Vulcan amusement.

A small group had gathered around them, a few admirals but mostly bored spouses, happy to have a cute young couple—interspecies even!—to distract them. Their faces had that pouty look people put on when they saw a puppy. Jim tried to think they were nothing but sappy romantics, but the truth was that he did the same thing when he met sweet couples.

Jim was about to turn away and stop torturing himself when someone started hitting their glass with a fork. Jim watched Spock’s spine go rigid—this had happened enough for him to know what it meant. Uhura looked up at him uncertainly. They were sometimes able to avoid this with claims of Vulcan propriety, but then one of the admirals, clearly tipsy, produced a sprig of mistletoe and hopped onto a nearby table to hold it over them. The little crowd cheered and people all over the deck turned to look.

Jim considered stepping in with some regulatory reprimand, but it would be too odd, attract too much attention. There was no logical reason that Captain Kirk shouldn’t, like everyone else, be charmed by his resident lovebirds. Besides, there was no regulation against couples kissing at off-duty parties. Jim had looked it up once.

Spock leaned down and kissed Uhura very quickly on the mouth. Spots of green had appeared high on cheeks, and Uhura gave an awkward laugh, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear. It was by no means a passionate exchange, but the onlookers were more than satisfied. They probably just thought that Spock was conservative, and that Uhura was sweetly embarrassed, pleased that he was so demonstrative for a Vulcan.

“One more!” someone shouted. Jim wanted to look away but couldn’t, watching Uhura stand on her tiptoes to kiss Spock once again.

It wasn’t that the act itself bothered him; it was hardly the first time they’d kissed since he and Spock had been together.

There had been one night, in fact, after a particularly stressful and political Starfleet party at which Spock and Uhura had had to be downright flagrant, when Uhura had collapsed naked in their bed, wasted, and Spock had had to carry her through the bathroom to his own bed where she could sleep it off alone. Jim had followed him giggling, far from sober himself, watching over his shoulder.

As Spock had tucked Uhura into bed she had sat up and kissed him square on the mouth, arms around his neck and tits against his chest. Jim had cracked up and then so had Uhura, flopping against the pillows.

Spock had finished tucking her in with a look of stoic resignation, which had only made them laugh harder. It was nice, these innocent acts of friendship, their complicated past ever-present but, somehow, devoid of bad blood. It was a collision of human against alien, untangling and re-tangling as they tried to find their way.

In the end, Spock had dumped Jim in with Uhura that night, and slept in the captain’s quarters in blissful separation from the ridiculous humans curled stupid and snoring in his bed. He had kindly brought them detox hypos and coffee in the morning, trying not to smile at their murderous, hungover glares.

No, the problem was not the kiss that, he could effortlessly tell, was making Spock incredibly uncomfortable. It was all of the people watching them and smiling, their eyes soft and genuinely moved.

No one had ever looked at him and Spock like that. They’d looked at them with respect, fear, amusement, but never like that. No one had ever looked at them in the colorful shadows of too many Christmas lights and seen something wonderful, something special.

Jim left the observation deck as quickly as he could without drawing attention. He didn’t look back to see if Spock had noticed.

Jim found a bench in one of the rec rooms, still decorated clumsily from an engineering party the previous night.

He knew someone would find him eventually, most likely Bones or Spock. But when he finally heard the quiet footsteps and turned around to look, it was neither of them.

Uhura smiled sadly and came over, sitting elegantly next to him in her formal uniform dress. They didn’t talk, staring at the lights and the paper chains Scotty had made in the colors of the Scott family tartan.

Eventually, Uhura murmured, “I hate when they make us kiss.”

“Me too,” Jim said roughly.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Never.”

Uhura reached out and took his hand, and for a long time they were silent in the candy-colored glow of the lights.

\---

Unlike his petulant captain, Spock attended his yearly physical without complaint. It was always scheduled for the fourth of February, and he had only missed it once, due to being held captive on an alien planet.

Thus he was understandably nonplussed when, the day after the holiday party, McCoy paged Captain Kirk on the bridge and said, “Heya Jim, I need you to send Spock down for his physical.”

Jim’s lovely forehead wrinkled with confusion and he exchanged a glance with Spock, who raised his eyebrow in return.

“I thought you did that in February,” Jim said automatically, and Spock watched his face suffuse momentarily with panic before he quickly schooled his expression. Spock wished he could reassure him that it was not, objectively, unusual for the captain to know when his first officer typically had his routine medical scan—it was in fact important information that a captain _should_ know.

But there was no way to meaningfully reassure him on the bridge. Spock crossed to the captain’s chair as Dr. McCoy groused, “I do, but this year I’m doing it now! Send him down!”

Jim looked up at him and Spock fought the urge to reach out and touch him, to smooth the lines of concern from around his eyes and mouth. To, as he so often did, kiss him and cite a regulation that excused whatever behavior Jim had just exhibited and which he feared was too obvious. It was a combination that Jim found particularly reassuring.

Instead, he simply said, “I suppose I should acquiesce to the doctor’s demands, Captain.”

Jim nodded and put on a fake smile. “Dismissed, Commander.”

Doctor McCoy was not waiting for him in the medical bay. A nurse pointed him to the CMO’s office, so Spock knocked and entered, confused.

To his further surprise, he found Nyota sitting on McCoy’s desk, the doctor leaning back in his chair and smiling.

“Doctor,” Spock said uncertainly. “I am reporting as ordered for my physical, although I am curious as to the reason for the change in schedule. As you well know—”

“Shut up, Spock,” McCoy said cheerfully. “That was just a ruse to get you down here without arousing your boyfriend’s suspicion.”

Nyota smiled. “I know he was really upset last night about the kiss. I had an idea about something we could do to make him feel better, so I ran it by Len. Now we have a plan, and we need your help.”

Spock raised his eyebrow. “I am listening.”

\---

The senior crew planned a small evening party for Christmas. The ship was still running a skeleton crew and they were in friendly space, so there was no reason for the high-ranking officers not to relax.

Spock had said he had an experiment to check on in the labs—Jim was pretty sure he just wanted an excuse to arrive late to the party and then leave early—so he wandered down to Deck 3 by himself.

Jim stood outside the doors to Rec Room 6, just far enough away to avoid the sensor. After the diplomatic party three days ago, he wasn’t exactly feeling social. Spock _would_ eventually show up to this gathering because it would be rude not to, and Jim wasn’t looking forward to another evening spent on opposite sides of the room pretending they wouldn’t rather be together.

Even among the senior crew who knew about their relationship, Jim and Spock never provided any evidence of it. Aside from a hand on the shoulder or something else they would do in front of the rest of the crew anyway, they didn’t even touch.

To everyone but Uhura and Bones, they had never presented their relationship as anything more than an inconvenience, a burden to the running of ship’s business. They had confessed it to their senior crew in hushed, serious tones, emphasizing the importance that they be held accountable, if necessary, for emotional compromise.

Their staff had looked vaguely uncomfortable, as if they didn’t quite know what to say. They had all reassured their commanding officers that they would be vigilant, and then said nothing else. Jim and Spock had never discussed it with them again. With the exception of a few times when, in moments of grave danger, some of the senior officers had seen Jim and Spock act like lovers out of fear, it was as if their professional confessions had never happened.

So while parties like these were certainly much less stressful, they were still restrained. Usually it didn’t matter much to Jim, as used to it as he was, but after the events of recent days, his heart just wasn’t in it.

 _Get a hold of yourself_ , he thought. _You’re their captain and their friend. Just go and have fun. Or at least fake it._

He took a step forward and let the sensor catch him, striding into the deck with a confidence he didn’t feel. The doors closed behind him.

He almost ran straight into Spock. Surprised, he hastily backed up before they accidentally touched each other.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought you were in the labs.”

When Spock didn’t answer immediately, Jim glanced around and realized that everyone present—all of his senior officers—were watching them and smiling.

He looked back up into his first officer’s face. “Spock?”

Spock’s expression was soft, almost a smile. “I believe there is a tradition in which we are required to engage,” he said, and pointed above them.

Jim looked up and found a sprig of real mistletoe above them. He looked back at Spock in shock. “What are you doing?” he hissed.

But everyone—Bones, Chapel, Uhura, Scotty, Keenser, Chekov, and Sulu—was still smiling kindly. Spock took his hand and Jim jerked it away, but Spock took it back, gently and firmly.

“Jim,” Uhura said, and Jim looked at her, his heart going rabbit-fast in his chest. “Everyone here knows. You don’t have to pretend with us. You deserve a little rest, ok? To just be yourselves and not worry about it.”

“Yeah,” Sulu added. “We had no idea you were hiding stuff from us! We just thought you were super private.”

“We’re happy for you lads!” Scotty said. “You were so gloomy when you told us you were seein’ each other we didn’t even know if _you_ were happy about it!”

“Seriously,” Bones grumbled, but he was smiling. “I need more people than Uhura to complain to about how sappy you idiots are.”

Jim was totally incapable of forming a response. Spock’s fingers were suddenly on his cheek, drawing him close and kissing him. Not quick and uncomfortable like he had kissed Uhura, but unyielding and sweet.

The crew, ridiculously, clapped and made exaggerated “aww!” sounds. Jim broke away, embarrassed but grinning, and even Spock let the corners of his mouth lift a little.

“Um, Thanks,” Jim said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and clinging to Spock’s waist with the other, perhaps more tightly than necessary. “This is really nice of you guys.”

His crew—his friends—grinned back at them.

“Alright, break it up,” Bones said, waving his arms to disperse everyone. “You’re embarrassing them.”

Everyone cheerfully spread out through the little rec room. Jim looked up at Spock.

“Did you know about this?”

“I did. Nyota and Dr. McCoy approached me for my approval and input.”

“Are you really ok with it? Like, kissing and stuff in front of them?”

In answer, Spock kissed him again, rubbing a hand over his back. When he pulled away he rested his forehead against Jim’s. “I am more than ‘ok’ with it. I find it extremely gratifying and reassuring to demonstrate, for once, how essential you are to my existence.”

Jim closed his eyes. “Me too.”

“Shall we procure beverages?” Spock asked, gently extricating himself from Jim’s hold. But he kept a hand on the small of Jim’s back as they walked over to the little refreshments station that had been set up on a long rec-room table.

Uhura and Bones were already standing there, and Jim gave each of them a quick, gruff hug. “Thanks,” he muttered.

Uhura smiled. “You’re welcome.”

“Here, it’s your favorite,” Bones said, handing him a little cup of eggnog. “You gonna imbibe tonight too, Spock?”

Spock was already pouring himself hot chocolate. “Indeed. I am in a particularly festive mood.”

Jim buried his face in Spock’s shoulder. “Oh my god, you’re such a dork.”

“You do not seem to mind,” Spock said, kissing the side of Jim’s head.

The senior officers relaxed into easy merriment, blasting Christmas carols and singing along, dancing badly. Jim stuffed his face with Russian Christmas cookies that Chekov had made, watched Spock get probably more tipsy than he had meant to, cheeks flushing ever greener. They never moved more than a few feet away from each other. Every once in awhile Spock touched two of his fingers to Jim’s.

Everyone egged Sulu into comming Ben and Demora and for a while they all crowded around his PADD asking about what Santa had brought and teasing Ben about how much Sulu wanted to kiss him, much to Sulu’s embarrassment.

Bones drunkenly revealed that he could do the foxtrot (Jim already knew that, of course), and then was strong-armed into teaching both Chapel and Chekov. After half an hour, Uhura grudgingly admitted that she knew it too, and Bones complained loudly that she hadn’t helped with his instruction. He was tipsy enough that he accepted an apology in the form of her agreeing to dance it with him, but only if he would let her lead.

When they had finished and everyone was laughing and clapping, Uhura suddenly shouted, “Hey!” and pointed at Jim and Spock. “You guys should dance!”

“Oh, no way,” Jim said, holding up his hands. “We’re good. I don’t dance.”

“ _Jim_ , all you have to do is sway,” she insisted. “Here, I’ll make you a deal—if you’ll dance, I’ll sing a song for you to dance to.”

She had never been especially shy about how beautiful her voice was, so it wasn’t a very powerful bribe, but when Jim looked up at Spock he lifted one shoulder just slightly. “I am not opposed.”

Jim laughed. “Really?” Uhura was already keying up a song on the rec room’s sound system.

“Really,” Spock said.

Jim’s face heated and he felt again the prickling sensation of embarrassment, but Spock took a few steps away from him and held out his hand, and how could Jim say no to that?

The rest of the crew gathered around their little impromptu dance floor and Jim looked nervously at them. “What, are you all going to _watch_?”

“That’s the point of this party, idiot,” Bones said with a grin and Jim sighed, shaking his head. Spock—who didn’t look embarrassed at all, damn him—held out his arms and Jim arranged himself, one hand on Spock’s shoulder and the other in Spock’s own.

Jazzy, old-fashioned Christmas music started to play, and Uhura smugly settled herself on top of a table. Jim and Spock just kind of stood there for a second, until Chapel said loudly, “You have to _move_ to dance!”

So they started clumsily swaying as Nyota started singing, her voice slow and sweet, peaceful.

Neither Jim nor Spock was very graceful. Spock, as ever, was gangly and stiff, but his arms around Jim were so sure and his face so sincere that Jim started to relax. It was weird being the whole room’s focus, but it also felt kind of great—Jim felt _seen_ in a way that he never really had. So few people had ever been privy to this part of him, the part that loved Spock, and that had in many ways become the most important part.

Jim peeked shyly at their crew and saw, with a little thrill, those same softly moved expressions that were so often turned on Spock and Uhura. But this time they were looking at something real: Jim and Spock really _did_ have something wonderful, something special.

At the last lines, Spock took Jim by surprise and dipped him—Jim wouldn’t have expected Spock to even know about that tradition, let alone perform it. He laughed out loud, looking up at Spock with one strong Vulcan arm holding him up. The crew laughed too, clapping and wolf-whistling.

Nobody lasted very long after that; they were all overworked and now tipsy, which inevitably led to general exhaustion. They agreed to clean up in the morning and filed out together, linking arms and leaning on each other.

But Jim held Spock back. He knew this night couldn’t last forever, but he wasn’t quite ready to slip back into their normal lives.

Under the sprig of mistletoe by the doors, he put his arms around Spock’s neck.

“I love you.”

“And I you, Jim.”

All the lights were turned out now and they kissed in the shadows, hidden and safe in their seclusion.

There would be more functions, other parties. They would be called upon to play the charade again. But Jim had a feeling this night would hold them over for quite a while.

Someday, when things were different, they would be able to go anywhere as one, show each other off, boast about what was between them.

Jim knew that would probably be years from now, when they were retired or at least no longer in the same command structure. Older men, probably past their prime, settled into each other. The novelty gone out of it but replaced by low-boiling devotion.

Probably no one outside of their crew would ever see them as they were now: young, reckless, desperate. A constant edge of terror given their dangerous mission and the likelihood that they would lose each other. But if they made it through, they’d be a besotted old married couple who held hands at diplomatic functions, kissed at parties, embarrassed cadets at the Academy. Someday younger officers would stand on tables with mistletoe and ask them to kiss.

It was a long way away but, for tonight, this was enough.


End file.
